


Reset

by Anyawen



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Canon Divergence, Divorce, Don't copy to another site, F/M, Fix-It, Love Confessions, M/M, Teething, the british government does no favors, tst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2019-07-16
Packaged: 2020-06-29 18:25:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19835989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anyawen/pseuds/Anyawen
Summary: John doesn't suggest a tracker in the AGRA thumb drive. He has other plans in motion.





	Reset

**Author's Note:**

> With thanks and cookies for 7PercentSolution, ASilvergirl, and bluebellofbakerstreet for beta eyeballs :)

The brass knocker on the door to the flat was straight when John arrived with a fussy Rosie on his hip. He opened the door and found Mrs Hudson on her way out.

“Mycroft's here?” John asked her, glancing up the stairs.

“He arrived about twenty minutes ago,” she replied, frowning in concern as Rosie fussed. “Poor thing's not feeling well?”

“Just teething, but she's got a bit of a fever with it, so the nursery called me to pick her up early,” John said, bouncing the little girl on his hip.

“I'm just on my way to the shops if you need me to pick up some numbing gel for her?” 

“There's some upstairs in the kit, but thank you,” John replied with a distracted smile. It was far too quiet upstairs for a visit from Mycroft. If Sherlock wasn't making the violin screech or otherwise stomping around and making his displeasure for the unwanted visit known, it meant the visit wasn't unwanted. Mycroft was there by request.

Sherlock was asking for favors, and John had a funny feeling he knew what they were.

“I'm just going to head up and see if the gel gets her settled enough to eat something and take a nap,” he said putting his foot on the stairs.

“All right, love. And do see what mischief those two are getting into upstairs? It's never a good sign when they're this quiet.”

John laughed. She knew them all so well.

He climbed the stairs, hearing the outside door close behind him.

The door to the sitting room was ajar, and through it John could see an impassive Mycroft standing in front of the fireplace. Sherlock stood facing him, back to the door, shoulders tense.

John watched as Sherlock caught sight of movement in the mirror behind Mycroft, eyes widening in surprise before he whirled around, camel dressing gown flaring out around him.

John couldn't help but smile at the dramatic flare.

“You're early,” Sherlock accused.

“I am,” John agreed easily. “Rosie's teeth are causing her some trouble, aren't they, love?” he said, addressing the last bit to the little girl who was beginning to squirm in his arms, reaching for Sherlock.

He crossed the room to Sherlock, who was already extending his hands to take her. John caught a look of astonished satisfaction on Mycroft's face as Sherlock snuggled her to his chest.

“Has he offered you tea, Mycroft, or did he greet you with demands?” John asked, moving to the kitchen to fill the kettle and turn it on.

“There's been no offer of tea, I'm afraid,” Mycroft replied.

“And his demands?”

“What makes you think I'm the one making demands?” Sherlock asked.

“I do actually know you,” John answered, pulling the first aid kit down from the top of the refrigerator and looking through it for the numbing gel. “He's here because you've asked him to come. Because you want a favor from him. And I'm asking you, Mycroft,” he said, glancing over to meet Sherlock's gaze while addressing the elder Holmes, “not to do it.”

“You don't want me to find Mrs Watson?”

“I believe that Ms Morstan has made her position clear,” John said, crossing back to stand in front of Sherlock so he could apply the medicated gel to Rosie's gums. She tossed her head back and forth, flailing in Sherlock's arms, but he held her securely, easily, though his eyes were locked on John, his expression troubled.

“John,” he began, but John cut him off.

“No, Sherlock. She's gone. She was always going to go. I know you know that – you said as much back in Leinster Gardens. 'The doctor's wife must be getting bored,' yeah?”

“I didn't mean-” Sherlock protested. “I didn't think-”

“It's okay, Sherlock,” John said, putting the gel away in the kit and returning it to the top of the refrigerator before washing his hands and pulling mugs and tea bags from the cupboard, and a clean bottle from the dish rack near the sink.

“If you're certain you don't want me to look into Ms Morstan's whereabouts, Doctor Watson, then I will take my leave of you,” Mycroft said, his tone purposefully indifferent.

John shot him a quick look as he put one of the mugs back in the cupboard.

“I'm sure. Don't go looking on our account, Mycroft.”

John could feel Sherlock's gaze on him while he made up a bottle of formula milk for Rosie, the sound of Mycroft's footsteps disappearing down the stairs. He checked the temperature of the bottle and turned to hand it to Sherlock, unsurprised to find the man at his elbow.

Sherlock took the bottle, adjusting Rosie in his arms and guiding the bottle to her grabby hands and hungry mouth without taking his eyes off of John. 

“I don't understand,” Sherlock said, watching John make tea.

“I have reasons for letting her go, Sherlock.”

“But you love her.”

“Hmm,” John responded, picking up the two mugs of tea and tilting his head to indicate they should go sit. “It's more complicated than that, though, yeah, I think there is something like love in the mix. Still, though, loving her doesn't necessarily mean I want her back, assuming she wanted to come back. And, even if I did, wanting her back doesn't mean it's the best thing for any of us.”

“Of course it's best for you and Rosie,” Sherlock said, crossing to his chair and sitting carefully to not disturb Rosie drinking from her bottle.

“I'm not convinced of that,” John replied, putting Sherlock's mug on the side table and sitting in his own chair. “We both know that Mary hasn't quite left her past behind, and we now know that it hasn't left her behind, either. And it came looking for her. I'm not sure it's best for Rosie to have her mother's past in her present, or her future. Likely it's better for Mary to be away from Rosie as well. She knows Rosie will be safe with me – with us – and she'll be better able to hide, or strike back, or go back to that life, without me and a baby to worry about.”

“What about you, though?” Sherlock asked. “If Mycroft could guarantee Rosie's safety, and Mary's, you wouldn't want her back? You married her … You wanted her.”

“Mycroft could never guarantee their safety,” John replied. “He'd put enormous resources into it, I'm sure, but there are no guarantees, Sherlock. As for what I wanted … It's not surprising that you have the impression that she is what I wanted. I tried hard to give you that impression – to give everyone that impression. Even me. I guess I'm a better actor than we thought."

John looked at the ceiling as though he thought to find guidance, or strength, then shook his head and gave a rueful smile, looking back to Sherlock feeding Rosie.

“And I know how hard you've tried to give me what you thought I wanted," he said. "You gave me a beautiful wedding. You forgave Mary for shooting you so that I could try to do the same. You shot Magnussen so she'd be safe. So we'd be safe. You've involved her in your Work, trying to keep her satisfied with this life, here with Rosie and me. You've done so much, Sherlock – so much. I can't ever thank you enough for all you've done. But … enough is enough. You offered to help her with this AGRA business, to put an end to the past so she could stay and build a future, here, with us. She chose to leave. Apparently this isn't the life she wanted, any more than it's the life I wanted.”

John watched as Sherlock blinked, clearly busy processing everything John was saying, and all the things he wasn't saying. Rosie pushed the bottle out of her mouth, beginning to squirm. John set his tea down and reached out, taking the bottle and setting it aside, and taking the little girl from Sherlock's arms before she could work herself into a good fuss. He felt Sherlock's eyes as he rose and began walking and bouncing Rosie gently.

“It's not the life you wanted?”

“No.”

“But you pretended that it was.”

“I did, yes. I wanted to want it, or part of me did. Hoped that if I pretended hard enough it would work,” John said with a sheepish look, then he squared his shoulders and met Sherlock's gaze. “Another part of me was afraid to admit to wanting anything else.”

“You're not afraid anymore?” Sherlock asked.

“Terrified, actually,” John said with a huff of laughter. On his shoulder Rosie squirmed and let out a wet burp. John grimaced and took the cloth Sherlock handed him to clean off his shirt as the detective took the little girl, who snuggled into him.

“What was it you wanted?”

“Same thing I want now – that I've wanted since you dragged me across London chasing that bloody cabby.”

“Our life.”

“Our life, yes. 'The two of us against the rest of the world,' you said, right? But not just that. Never just that,” John replied.

He watched as Sherlock paced the room, steps slow and rolling, swaying Rosie gently as he frowned in thought.

“Not just that,” Sherlock echoed. “John? What else did you want?”

John glanced away, then back again.

“I always hoped for something ... more, y'know? A relationship with the brilliant, annoying, gorgeous, totally mad tosser who cured my limp.”

“You wanted a relationship … with me?”

“I did,” John agreed. “I do.”

“I wanted that, too. Want that.”

“Our life?”

“And you. The relationship. All of it.”

John ducked his head, then looked up again, a delighted, relieved smile lighting up his face.

“Well, that's good then, isn't it?”

“Is it?” Sherlock asked, coming to a stop in front of his chair, still bouncing lightly as Rosie settled into a doze. “You said it terrified you.”

“The idea of losing you terrifies me,” John replied.

“And you thought that telling me how you feel would cause you to lose me?”

“Can you honestly tell me you weren't afraid of the same thing?”

“I – No,” Sherlock replied, rolling his shoulder slightly to adjust Rosie into a more comfortable position. “There's still Mary.”

“There isn't, really,” John said. “Wouldn't be even if she hadn't done a runner. Which,” John mused, frowning, “is going to make delivering the paperwork difficult. Damn.”

“Paperwork?”

“Divorce papers, and a proposed custody arrangement. They were meant to be delivered to her on Tuesday.”

Sherlock stopped his unconscious swaying and Rosie let out a tiny, sleepy protest. He wrapped a hand around her and turned his face to nuzzle into her sparse hair, shushing her gently as he carefully sat back down. John watched, waiting until Sherlock turned back to look at him.

“Tuesday?”

“Had to wait a year to file for divorce.”

“You've been planning this?”

“For a bit, yeah,” John said with a resigned sigh. “When you got off that plane – When I realized that you'd done what you did, and accepted a death sentence, because you wanted me to be happy with the life I had chosen … Well. I finally had to admit that I never would be. Never could be happy with that life. And I could not let you continue to sacrifice so much for a life I didn't want. But there was the pregnancy, and I had to wait a year to file for divorce … and I didn't know how you'd react. To knowing that you'd done so much for me and I didn't want any of the things you'd worked so hard to give me.”

“And you didn't want them," Sherlock said in a tone of mingled disbelief and hope, "because you want me.”

“I do. And you got off that plane and I knew that I couldn't continue. Even if you didn't want me. Even if you were so angry that you didn't want to continue working with me, or to ever see me again, I couldn't stay with her. So, on January 29th I had lunch with Clara.”

“Clara? Harry's ex-wife?” Sherlock asked, puzzled, and then his expression cleared. “She's a barrister. Family law.”

“Yes. Got the paperwork filled out, and she sat on it for six months. Called once a month, like clockwork, to ask if she should hang on to it, or shred it. Last time she called, last week – just after you'd fought with Ajay and got that AGRA thumb drive, I told her to schedule the courier.”

“You were angry.”

“Damned right I was,” John agreed. “Another bloody lie. But, that had nothing to do with the divorce – that was already in motion. And now she's done a runner. I suppose this means we can update the paperwork to include 'abandonment' as a reason. Not sure what to do now, though, as she's not here to sign it, or to contest it. Have to call Clara ...”

“Leave it to Mycroft,” Sherlock suggested. “He can deal with it. Paperwork is his specialty.”

John looked at Sherlock, leaned back in his chair with Rosie sleeping on his chest. He had one hand holding her bum, and the other across her back, fingers rubbing soothing circles unconsciously. He nodded.

“Yeah, all right.”

“I'm not good at this, John, so, I have to ask. What happens now?”

“Not sure, actually,” John admitted. “Do you have any objection to working it out together? You, me, and Rosie? Just the three of us against the rest of the world?”

“I've heard worse plans.”


End file.
